I hate technology. I hate the internet. I hate comments. People. “Blogging.” Psh stupid.

So just to get it straight, that’s not what this is.

This is me in the dark. I’m like a night shadow, which isn’t a thing, because dark in the darkness isn’t a thing — it’s redundant. But we’re gonna play pretend it’s something I can do — cast a dark hue in a room without light — which is stupid, but does allow me to tell the truth. And here, in the darkest shadows of the internet, I can say any damn thing I want. Truth, truth omni tempore. Truth the way I see it, for there’s no one to contradict me.

Nothing to see here, ma’am.

So, think of my voice pumping out of the void — the distant beat of the dance house, where poor little children have lost their way. And let it reach… whoever. WhoMever. (Just because we can’t see, doesn’t mean we can’t dazzle each other with our fine use of grammar: after all, every dative case deserves a “whom.”) So think of this more as a confessional… a confessional in a haunted house, where the priest lies waiting to attack with his big, brown crucifix. Do you feel relaxed now? Safe?


I’m going to get comfortable here in the dark and wait, like the ghoul priest, the night shadow, the lost club kid that I am. Do I exist? Am I confessor or confessant? Prosecutor or accused? I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Because though she’s unaware of it, shit is about to get real…

I’m coming for you, Marcie Park…ark…ark… I’m here in the dark…ark…ark…

And I’m gonna tell your secrets. Outloud.

So, between you and me? I surely hope you brought a flashlight.